


Proximity

by BellJarred



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: 2nd POV, F/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellJarred/pseuds/BellJarred
Summary: Slowly, but surely your very being began to eclipse his thoughts. Throughout your budding friendship he had often been predisposed to chalk it up to his admiration of your sheer skill as a fledgling trainer, jealously because of how this skill outshone his own, and proximity -- you were neighbors after all! Whether you liked it or not, from the moment either of you dared to depart from their front door, paths were forever intertwined. But how could he know -- this overarching know-it-all of a teenage boy -- how could he not know that his focus on proximity, his fixation on you, was not about how close the two of you were, but how dangerously close he wanted to be?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, folks! Whether for better or for worse, I have returned. To be sure, you can blame a lot of my previous inactivity on the fact that I have recently moved locations – journeyed an hour and a half’s drive across my home state, in fact – in pursuit of successful young adulating. Though my new house is quite lovely, it is archaic…and the lack thereof of WiFi there, due to my boyfriend and I’s pitiful collected income, seems to match its antiquity step for miserable step. I don’t have a lot to do between university shenanigans and my thirty-minute commute, so I shall be busying myself with a few fics here and there. This particular one is undoubtedly a result of the eight-billion nuzlockes I have run on X in hopes of staving off boredom brought on by internet withdrawal. That’ll be all, I think. Oh, wait…SUN AND MOON IN A MONTH. GET HYPED, SON.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokemon. I do not own any of the characters within, except, I suppose, my chosen characterization of the ambiguous female player slot. Please do not sue, thanks.
> 
> ***ALSO, THE KIDDOS ARE AGED UP SIMPLY BECAUSE WHILST POKEMON IN ITSELF CANNOT BE CONSIDERED REALISTIC, I DON'T THINK ANYONE WOULD LET THEIR TEN YEAR OLD TRAVERSE AN ENTIRE CONTINENT ON THEIR LONESOME -- Y'KNOW, SAVE FOR A SMALL FROG OR SOMETHIN'. What are these mothers thinking?
> 
> Calem: 18
> 
> Reader: 18
> 
> Shauna: 18
> 
> Tierno: 17
> 
> Trevor: 17

“ _Fletch_!”

“I don’t know what mom told you, Red, but in Kanto nobody – and I mean _nobody_ gets up before lunchtime. I mean, give a girl a break! There is such a thing as culture shock, y’know?”

“… _Fletchling_?”

“Alright already,” you begin, a pang of sympathy coursing through you as weary, [e/c] eyes drink in the sight of one very puzzled and very small little bird. “So, maybe my definition of “nobody” is not as broad as it could be…maybe it’s just, y’know, _me_ that didn’t get up before noon…but, come on! A girl’s got to get her beauty rest!”

“ _Fle, Fletchling_!” The minute creature’s cries have taken a turn towards indignation as his tiny wings flap furiously at his side. Once your falsehood was revealed to him at full, the dual Normal/Flying type wasted no time towards resuming an air of obstinacy. After all, he had been tasked with one task, and one task alone: rousing his beloved master’s complete and utter slugabed of a daughter.

Letting loose a huff of defeat, you tossed back your pale pink covers and swung your bare feet over the edge of your twin bed, thus confirming your suspicions that the plush nature of your bedroom carpeting could hardly combat the chill of an early morning’s air. As the last lustrous traces of the previous night’s sleep escape you, your mind begins to drift towards contemplations more concrete than well-practiced haggling towards “Just five more minutes, _please!_ ”  performed with such gusto and synthetic consciousness that it could put a seasoned Snorlax’s _Sleep_ _Talk_ to shame.

 _This Fletchling_ , you thought, noticing that the fellow in question had lost most of his vigor upon determining that you were actually, _finally_ making an effort to wake up _, is definitely the Adamant type_. And just how exactly was this the case? How had your mother traversed the world and managed to snag for herself a secondary Pokémon so physically different, but so temperamentally the same to her Kantoian partner? After all, she had only gotten a Fletching on a whim – attempting an indolent grab at the curtails of normality in a new town, a new country. You hadn’t had much time to explore the area, having only been in Kalos for half a week at best, but you had spied enough neighboring Fletchlings outside your window to pick up on the house-pet trend – and you couldn’t blame your mother for it really, as it was more than a little eye-catching to be not just the new neighbors, but to be the new neighbors with a hulking Rock/Ground behemoth sunbathing casually in their tight squeeze of a “modest front lawn.”

“[NAME], AREN’T YOU UP YET?”

As your mother’s inquiry drifts up the stairs – and far too loquaciously to suit your early morning rituals at that – the Fletching, whom you have taken upon yourself to bequeath the simple alias of “Red” – squints his beady little eyes at you, a visual echo of the million-dollar question. Is it just your imagination, or does his strident beak gleam threateningly in the curtain-filtered sunlight?

“I-I’M JUST DECIDING WHAT TO WEAR, MOM!” you squeak, an involuntary shiver running down your spine at the thought of the wrath your mother and her terrifying Fletchling could deliver. Taking care not to trip over Red, who is far easier to lose sight of once you rise from the bed and find yourself towering over him, you scurry across the room to your closet – arguably the best thing to come out of moving to Kalos. Your fingertips ghost over the row of crisp, colorful fabric, a vibrant tide of crimson and onyx that reverberates Red’s color scheme somehow perfectly. “Let’s see, red skirt, red skirt, red skirt, red skirt, black tank, black tank…”

 

* * *

 

In the end, it seemed only natural that you would decide upon an outfit that consisted of a flowy, high-waisted red skirt, plain black tank-top, red felt hat, white wide-frame sunglasses, and plain black shoes. Stylish as it was, what other option did you have? After all, your mother was a firm subscriber to the school of thought that, “You can’t have too much of a good thing!” So, when she had come across a bargain boutique that offered the typical B.O.G.O sale on an adorable outfit in your size, she had wasted no time in buying _six_ – even if there was only one color left.

Before your descent of the stairs had concluded fully, a heavenly smell had already made quick work of assaulting your nostrils.

“Mm,” you sighed dreamily, departing from the steps with a cheerful little hop. “What’s for breakfast?”

“As complimentary as it is to see you drooling over my cooking, [Name],” your mother began, turning to glance at you with one hand on her hip and the other absentmindedly stirring the contents of a large, silver vat. “This is actually lunch – because it’s _lunch time_ – because you slept in.”

You blanched at her indignant reveal. “L-Lunch time? I missed breakfast?” Woeful tears threaten to spill forth from your eyes at the thought of only having two meals today, and your mind busies itself with trying to work through the conflict of knowledge. “And, it’s so _cold_ upstairs! How can it be noon already?”

Your mother pays your puerile wailings no mind, instead opting to return her full attention to the stove-top before her. “I know I told you a thousand times that Kalos is a lot less temperate in the summertime that Kanto, dear, but if you’re so cold all of the time maybe you should look into getting a Fletchling for your starter Pokémon. Their evolution is a _Fire_ type, you know. You could even take Red – that is, if I can bear to part with him.”

“ _FLETCHLING, FLETCH_!” Red cries, swooping down from his perch atop the refrigerator in order to land protectively atop your mother’s head. You are unsure whether to be annoyed over this fervent rejection, even if it could simply be chalked up to the fact that Fletchling has become very attached to your mother in a very short amount of time rather than the fact that he may really abhor the thought of traveling with you in particular.

“There, there,” your mom coos, brushing the distraught bird’s cheek with her index finger. “Nobody said that you _have_ to go anywhere.”

“Ah, that’s another thing!” You proclaim, waltzing across the room in pursuit of the hours-old coffee you know to be languishing in its pot. As these things go, your mother was indeed a coffee drinker, but a very particular one about how many caffeinated cups she partook of in the morning. “If I’m old enough to go on a journey now, then I’m old enough to have my own alarm clock, don’t you think?”

Your mother quirks a delicately quaffed brow at you – incontestable evidence that she has been giving into the Kalosian level of self-maintenance you had seen reflected in some of her neighborhood peers around town – and gestures wordlessly to the clean mug she has left out for you beside the coffee pot before providing your question with a proper response. “I suppose so, _if_ you can find an alarm clock that is half as effective as Fletchling at rousing heavy sleepers such as yourself.”

After pouring yourself a half-cup of lukewarm coffee, you swallow the contents and wonder whether it, or your mother’s sick burn is more bitter.

 

* * *

 

A resounding knock disrupts the predictable rhythm of spoons scraping ceramic, noisy slurps, and pleasant chirps sprinkled between beakfuls of Pokéchow. You pause, mid-spoonful of vegetable stew, to ponder over the arrival of a visitor with mild interest. Who could it be? It wasn’t exactly like you and your mother had made any friends yet here, and it was impossible to believe that anyone in Kanto had dared brave an entire ocean for a visit – well, at least not so soon after your departure.

“Yes, I’m coming!” your mother chirps, dabbing at her lips with a paper napkin. She rises to her feet and makes quick work of crossing the distance between the kitchen table and the door. With a twist of the rounded doorknob, the door swings open to reveal a duo of potential peers for you: a raven-haired youth in a blue track suit accompanied by a spritely, pig-tailed girl outfitted in more bows than a horde of Gothitelle and Sylveon combined.

“Hello there – oh my goodness! It’s really you! I mean, everyone knows that it’s Rhyhorn Rider Grace that just moved in, but – wow – I’ve never met a real celebrity before!”

A faint blush rushes to your mother’s cheeks at the recognition as the two of you drink in the privilege of friendly faces. Faintly, you wonder how many of your family’s days had been spent solely in the precious company of a ballsy Fletchling.

“Well now, there’s no need for that! I wouldn’t really call myself the celebrity, when Rye is the one who does all the work! And, of course, I’m sure he would just adore your praise!”

Obviously feeling sufficiently prompted, the bubbly female turns to kneel before your mother’s lead Pokémon. The aforementioned creature, a lackadaisical Rhyhorn, cracks open one eye in order to peer up at the human brave enough to impede upon his delicious flow of solar rays.

“Hiya, Rhyhorn! My name’s Shauna! I’ve never met a Pokémon from Kanto before, let alone such a famous one!” The girl – Shauna – gushes, equipped with the cheesiest of smiles.

Rhyhorn, or Rye as you mother fondly refers to him, has been successfully baited by all of the ego-stroking, and now raises his mammoth skull to better behold Shauna.

“ _Rhy_ ,” His thanks to her is clipped, but existent nonetheless.

Seeing that his cohort is now otherwise occupied, the raven-haired fellow begrudgingly decided to pick up with your mother where Shauna left off.

“Hello, Mrs. [Last Name],” he begins politely, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue jacket. “I’m Calem, and this is Shauna. We’re your neighbors.”

“Oh!” Your mother explains, perking up even further – if at all possible – at this news. “How lovely! It’s so nice to see such fresh faces at my door. Tell me, where do you and your sister live?”

The boy, Calem, blinks Noctowlishly before hoisting a thumb in Shauna’s direction.

“Oh, she’s not my sister. My parents and I live next door, and Shauna’s only a few streets away,” Calem explains, shifting a bit from foot to foot.

“I see! Sorry for the misunderstanding. Say, I’ve got a daughter about your age,” your mother begins, stepping aside to reveal your surprised form. “[Name], the welcome wagon has come at last! Come say hello to Calem and Shauna!”

You feel exposed at the reveal of your existence to these two strangers, and though somewhere in the back of your mind you realize that it’s not too late to turn tail towards the unyielding warmth and safe-haven that is found beneath your fluffy pink duvet, you find yourself dragging your feet sluggishly towards the door. This, unquestionably, is not the way you wanted to meet people – taken aback and smelling like hot tomatoes.

“Hey,” you begin tentatively, coming to stand by your mother’s side. “I’m [First Name] [Last Name]. Nice to meet you both.”

“Not to sound weird or anything,” Shauna begins, finally returning her attention to the people around her rather than the Pokémon. “But we already know who you are! That _is_ why we’re here!”

“Oh?” Your mother queries as she glances between Calem, Shauna, and you.

“This is for you, Mrs. [Last Name]. It’s from Professor Sycamore of Lumiose City. Do…you mind if we borrow [Name] for a while?”

“A letter – for me? Could it be? A love letter?” Your mother clucks about, the letter gripped firmly in her calloused hands.

“Mom,” you warn, begging – pleading with her not to embarrass you already. “Is it alright to hang out with Calem and Shauna for a bit? I promise to be back before dark!”

“Oh!” Your mother exclaims, regaining her focus. “Well, sure you can…just keep away from the main roads unless one of you has a Pokémon with you. You know how…exciting it can be ‘round the tall grass.”

“Thanks, mom!” You chirp, blazing past her with all the speed a thrice Agility could bring.

“We don’t have partners yet, but we’re getting them today!” Shauna calls, leaping to her feet and seizing you by the hand. “Come on, [Name]! Wait ‘til you meet everybody!” She squeals.

“Whaa—?” You mutter, leaving the unfinished word as the only trace of your presence in the yard as Shauna drags you off towards the great unknown.

“That letter will explain everything, ma’am!” Calem shouts over his shoulder, jogging in desperate hopes to keep up with the likes of you and Shauna.

You mother glances down at the letter in her hand before glancing off in the direction the three of you had vanished. Faintly, she marvels over the power of youth.

“No wonder that boy’s in a track suit!” She giggles, feeling exhausted by the mere thought of Shauna’s limitless energy.

“ _Rhy_ ,” Rye nods succinctly in agreement, lowering his head and resuming his pursuit of a prolonged afternoon Rest.

 

 


	2. Vaniville Bunch

“Hey, Shauna! Over here!”

The spirited waving of a cheerful youth, slumped back comfortably against a chic black bistro chair, signals the welcoming reality of ceased locomotion. As your quick-footed companion comes to a screeching halt before this unidentified youth’s table, you sighed, a poignant mixture of relief and exhaustion. Was this girl – this sudden companion you had made – really a girl at all, or a Lampent keen on sapping your strength? Judging by how exhausted you currently felt, it was hard to tell the difference.

“Tierno, Trevor! Thanks for waiting so patiently!” Shauna exclaims, looking no worse for the wear despite your fatiguing romp. At once, you notice that she has greeted not one, but two companions. A quick, panoramic sweep of your surrounding reveals not just the fellow to have spoken – a hearty, black-haired gentleman outfitted in a rather striking Vanillite t-shirt and jeans – but a shorter, ginger-haired fellow seated diagonally from the first. This unacquainted lad – whether presiding under the moniker of Tierno or Trevor you have yet to ascertain – seems distinctly different from his companion, if only because his body language and crisp attire suggest an altogether more reserved character. He sits perfectly straight against his chair, an elbow crooked against the table surface and what you can only presume, in accordance to the string dangling over the edge of his miniscule mug, to be some kind of tea before him.

“Where’s Calem?” The red-head queries, a thin brow quirked in your direction.

“Oh!” Shauna blanches, realization suddenly dawning. “Well – uh – about that…” She mutters, laughing nervously. The boys before you share a knowing glance, and you are able to assess that this is probably not the first time this has happened.

“We went on ahead, but knowing my mother, he’s probably wishing he had the Soundproof ability right about now!” You chirp pleasantly, seeking to come to Shauna’s aid. Your present company shares a laugh, and at once the tension of Shauna’s blunder is absolved.

“Ah, don’t worry about him! Calem, believe it or not, is not just a seasoned trainer, but a seasoned handler of chatty folks!” the black-haired gentleman dismisses with a wave of his hand. “You must be [Name]! I’m Tierno,” he introduces, pausing to turn his gaze towards his red-headed compatriot. “This is Trevor.” He turns to you again, “And _you_ look exactly like Shauna said you would! A totally spot on description!”

“I do?” You ask, gesturing to yourself unsurely. You cannot help but to wonder, didn’t you just meet her? How could she have already known what you look like?

“The reason we brought you here was per Professor Sycamore’s request. Your mother’s pretty famous in Kanto, so naturally it was not at all arduous to run your name through an Images search on StickyWeb.”

The lot of you turn your attention to a masculine voice that seemed to come from behind you rather than in front of you, as Tierno or Trevor’s had before. Lo and behold, Calem had finally made his way to you.

“Calem!” A chorus of recognition rings through the group at the aforementioned male’s arrival. He is, perhaps, two paces south of you, and stooped over in exhaustion, hands gripping firmly at knees, and short raven locks clinging to his forehead with sweat.

“Did you grow up on a Doduo farm, Shauna? I shouldn’t have to consider a roller-skate investment just to keep up with you,” Calem jokes, his words punctuated by desperate gulps of air.

“Sorry, Calem! I was just so excited for everyone to get acquainted with [Name], and, I mean, _our_ Pokémon—” Shauna pauses her sheepish explanation to shoot Tierno a longing glance. “Do—do you really have them with you?”

At once, Tierno produces from beneath the table a black and yellow cylinder, not quite the width of his shoulders. “You betcha! How could I possibly forget?”

“Oh my goodness!” Shauna breathes, and with a swipe of his fingers the cylinder cracks open to reveal three standard Pokeballs amidst a plush, interior lining of black velvet.

“I know this must all seem kind of rushed,” Calem begins, stepping forward to encase one of your shoulders in his grasp. “But today’s the day we – you, me, and Shauna – get our partner Pokémon.”

“Partner Pokémon?” You blink, visibly taken aback. “­That’s really great for you guys, but I couldn’t possibly just _accept_ a free Pokémon – from – err – someone? And the money I’ve got right now couldn’t possibly compensate for such a gesture!” you squeak out hurriedly, throwing your hands up as though you were under arrest.

“Maybe he’s a fan of your mom, or maybe he senses some sort of potential in you,” Trevor interjects with a small, sociable smile. “Either way, Professor Augustine Sycamore of Lumiose City specifically requested that you, [First Name] [Last Name], be one-fifth of the favor he’s asked of us all.”

“Favor?” You repeat breathlessly. “But I don’t know any professors – let alone this Sycamore guy – just what _kind_ of favor does he think he can ask of me?”

Shauna perks at this inquiry, pausing for a moment in order to shift fervently through the messenger back draped across her shoulders. After a moment, undoubtedly upon finding what she was looking for, she produces from the depths of her bulky, fuchsia colored bag, a similarly colored electronic device.

“Here! This one is for you!” She exclaims, pushing the device into your hands. “I don’t know if you’ve given much thought to what you want to do with your life, but we all want to be Pokémon trainers – and all of us are finally old enough to start just such a journey! The professor offered to help us out by providing partners and Pokeballs! All he asks in return is that you make a little bit of contribution towards completing the Kalosian Pokédex.”

Oh! Was that all? Honestly, you’d heard praise over the usefulness of ordering a Pokédex before embarking upon your coming-of-age, “conquer the gyms, conquer the contents, you’re eighteen, motherfucker, do whatever you want!” journey, but not once had you heard of anyone being asked to assist in the expansion of the device’s base data. It made a bit of sense though in this region, you supposed, after all, hadn’t you caught a bit on the news a week or so ago about how a new type – Fairy type – had just been classified here? Supposedly, it was supposed to have turned the matchup system completely on its head.

“Thanks, Shauna,” you smile at her, graciously accepting the freebie. “Honestly, what with the move and all I hadn’t really given much thought to the fact that I should be starting my journey soon! I mean? Partner Pokémon? Trainer or Coordinator? It doesn’t seem like any suitable amount of time exists for such contemplations,” you admit, scratching the back of your head awkwardly with your free hand. “And, honestly, I’m still not sure if now is the right time. My mom just picked up a part-time job in Ambrette Town, working with would-be Rhyhorn Rider Instructors. Ugh, that was a mouthful.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, [Name]! From what I know of your mom, her constitution is sturdier than a Steelix! She’s gotta know by now that you’d be itching to start your journey!” Shauna grins, sporting a reassuring thumbs-up at you. “Besides, Calem gave her a letter from the Professor that is explaining all of this a lot better than I can as we speak!”

“So,” Shauna begins again, grasping your free hand in both her own. “Won’t you come with us [Name]? Calem and I,” she shoots the boy a self-assured glance. “We’ll even let you have first pick of the three! Around here, the most popular starters to come by are Fennekin, Froakie, and Chespin – uh – Fire, Water, and Grass, respectively!”

“We will?” Calem echoes, a bit of disappointment lacing his tone. Shauna shoots him the humanoid equivalent of Scary Face, and he wilts. “We will.”

“Well,” you begin tentatively, your eyes darting about the group. “Aren’t their only three Pokeballs? Won’t someone be left out, even if I don’t have one?”

“Don’t worry about that, [Name]! Trevor and I already have partners! You can meet ‘em in a minute if you want! I just – I think I say this on behalf of us both – but whether you choose a partner here or not, I hope all of you feel as excited about your starters as we did!” Tierno gushes, a warm smile accompanied by a defiant fist pumped into the air.

“And,” Calem starts to say, and it is evident that he is intending for the sentiment of his words to hinge off of that of Tierno’s. “I think I speak for us all when we say that we’d love for you to come with us. For the most part, we hope to travel together, a true Vaniville bunch. How could we do that without you, _neighbor_?”

Any fight you had left in you – any politeness towards refuting a free Pokémon you felt you had yet to deserve – melts at this final inquiry of Calem’s. It is at this moment, as he gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze, that you realize at once that his hand had never left you. At the warmth of his tone and the proximity of his person, every inch of you feels gooey and pink. Forget all Lampent!Shauna speculations, could you have been a Ditto all along?

“I – uh – that is – yes, of course – neighbor?” You stumble over your words, realizing with great horror that your tongue must have been the first part of you to turn to jelly.

“YES!” Shauna cries, twirling around the lot of you. “I don’t have to be the only girl! Oh, [Name]! Think of all the Boutique hopping we’ll do! I hear in Lumiose – which we’ll have to hit because, y’know, there’s a gym and a professor – they have the most stylish boutiques and salons in all of Kalos! And, don’t even get me started on just how many cafes! Ooh!”

Your gaze wanders from the rambling brunette before you to the boy by your side. Nervously acknowledging the invasion of his arm into your personal space bubble, you step quickly out of reach, hoping to be as nonchalant as possible about it, but probably failing horribly in the process. Questions pepper your frantic mind: You’d heard that he was a seasoned trainer, but just where had this boy picked up the TM for Charm? And, more importantly, exactly _what_ had you gotten yourself into because of it?

 


	3. Playing With Fire

“Well, dear, I can’t say that I’m surprised,” you mother admits, arms crossed and slippered feet resting laxly atop the coffee table. “Rather, I should say I saw this coming.”

Her gaze acquires a panoramic analysis of the room before, yielding up a rather heartwarming sight. Red, your mother’s Fletchling perches impudently about your hat as a small, fluffy creature fashions a makeshift loft of your crisscross-applesauce lap. The fireplace crackles gently behind you, and a wayward yawn escapes your parted lips – judging by your reluctance to get up this morning coupled with this weary display, she can only conclude that you were up late last night playing _Street Fighter-Types_ on that handheld videogame device of yours again. Once, she had prided herself upon finding he last one with the picturesque Pikachu design to be found at the local Poke Mart last Christmas, but now? Now her mind soared with regret. How could she expect you to be responsible with such a thing – how could she expect a daughter too irresponsible to go to bed on time to travel the world…alone?

“I just,” you begin, reaching down to scratch the fuzzy creature about the ears. “She’s _so_ cute! I know she’s not very tough looking, but, well, she’s got a mean Ember!”

“ _Fennekin, Fen_!” The creature pipes up in agreement, its vivid orange irises sparkling in defiance as if to emphasize its trainer’s point.

Your mother almost swoons at the adorability of it all – keyword being _almost_ – but Rhyhorn Rider Grace is no pushover for cuteness, otherwise, how would she ever have survived the rearing of a little girl?

“I don’t doubt that, but you know if I’d had my way we would have called around for one of Rye’s kids back home! I’m sure Julia wouldn’t have cared to part with one of Rosie’s kids back at the farm! They do have _so_ many, you know!” Your mother offers, a gesture laced dangerously with a twinge of maternal chastising. “I would have felt better about you being off on your own if I had known that it was with a sturdy Rock or Ground type!”

Your partner – for a grand total of sixty minutes now – lets out a defeated whine at your mother’s declaration. The poor little thing had been ecstatic about being chosen first, but had that only been a blunder? Was she already deemed not good enough for her new best friend?

“ _Mom!_ ” You warn, ensnaring the kit in a protective hug. “I love Rye – and Julia’s Rhyhorn – hell, her whole Rhyhorn farm is _great_ and all – but just because I’m her daughter doesn’t mean I have to live in the shadow of the great Rhyhorn Rider Grace forever! Farrah and I can do this! I know we can – and – and we won’t be alone! I’ll be traveling with Calem, Shauna, Tierno, and Trevor too!”

Your mother smiles warmly at this newfound surge of confidence dancing behind her beloved daughter’s [e/c] eyes. Perhaps you were still a child in a lot of ways – more ways than she might have liked – but moments like this provided a promise – the makings, really – of a capable young adult on the horizons, and that alone was proficient towards paving the way for your mother’s concession.

“I’m well aware of how capable my little girl can be, [Name],” she begins tenderly. “And I’ve learned the hard way never to challenge the ardor of a good Fire type!” she adds, sparing your Fennekin an affectionate glance to which it yipped cheerfully in reply. “You just have to understand that I’m a mother, I’m bound to worry no matter what.”

Your eyes well with bittersweet tears at your mother’s reveal, and it is not long before your mother finds her comfortability on the couch threatened by the irrevocable arrival of a “dog pile” sort of embrace.

“Mom! I’m going to miss you _so_ much!” You cry, capturing her in a tight embrace. Your Fennekin finds its way between the two of you, spreading its natural warmth-by-association to both parties, and, of course, Red transitions from head to head – making a nest of someone’s crown being his preferred show of affection.

“And I will miss you – as well as your cute little partner – more than you could ever know, [Name], but I must confess how proud of you I am for putting yourself out there: making friends, carrying the trainer torch like your mother and father before you, and embarking upon your first journey!”

A wistful sigh escapes you, and the fervor of your embrace becomes all the more apparent. Goodness knows how much you would miss your mother and how appreciative you were of her faith in you, but now that she mentioned it – if he could see you now, would your father be proud too?

 

* * *

 

“So, I don’t really know how this goes,” you begin, rubbing at your left eye with the back of your hand. “Except that some – like Rhyhorn are too big for in-home snuggles. Would you prefer to sleep in your ball, or, well, right here?” You question, patting the excess space to the right of you gently.

“ _Fen,_ ” Your Fennekin replies, trotting easily over to your side.

“I guess there’s not much contest, huh?” You mutter to yourself, falling back against the plushness of your bed. “I’d prefer it here too!”

You ease the covers over your body and up to your chin, and Fennekin slips effortlessly under them. After a few moments, you curl onto your left side, and she does not squander the opportunity to acquire maximum snuggles amidst the crook of your semicircle shape.

“Goodnight, Farrah,” you call softly, your eyes fluttering with the all the gentleness of a Beautifly’s wings, teetering between sleep and awake. A muffled croon of response greets you from beneath the covers, and the world as you know it now fades to black.

When bestowed with the honorable task of “first pick” only hours ago, you had found the task at hand to be far from difficult. Certainly, all three starters were the sheer definition of “adorable” and all, but it was only with the fluffy, diminutive kit that you could not bear to part ways – only with her that your heart wrenched at the mere hint of even a parting glance. Plus, she was a _girl_ starter! Often in selecting a partner Pokémon, a strange miasma of sexism seemed to cloud the odds for getting anything other than a little, _masculine_ bundle of joy or just something altogether unidentifiable in gender – like a Carbink or Golette. You had not much in ways of future aspirations for your journey, but of one thing you were certain: yes, your team – your beautiful little brood of potential ass-kickers – would be outright _Amazonians_ , if you could help it.

The Pokémon left in the wake of your decision – an azure frog and bubbly, rodent-like creature respectively – seemed only slightly disappointed not to be chosen by you, a blow undoubtedly softened by the knowledge that if not yours, they would soon be _someone’s_ partner. Whilst you busied yourself with fretting over the cuteness of your newfound partner, hurriedly scooping her up into your arms for a closer examination, Calem was unsurprisingly chivalrous in his decision to let Shauna pick before him. Her choice was an obvious one, as she went for the critter who most exhibited a temperament similar to her own. Having been selected, the cheerful Grass type – readily dubbed “Lil’Chespin” by his trainer – took to a gleeful sort of dancing about her feet. The Froakie, attempting to come off as no worse for the wear despite having been picked last – chosen by default, in fact, crossed his shimmering blue hands across his chest standoffishly.

“ _Fro, Fro_ ,” he murmured, not bothering to come to Calem’s side.

The raven-haired teen wasted no time in closing the distance between himself and his new partner, coming to kneel before the emotionally wounded little fellow.

“You don’t seem very excited,” Calem teased. “Don’t you know they save the best for last?”

The Froakie’s façade melts as easily as your resolve not to participate had before it, and sparkling tears burst forth from his eyes as he leaps full forth into Calem’s outstretched arms. In result, the jovial young trainer lands roughly on his ass with an airless “Oomph!” and an armful of affectionate Water type.

These introductions are shortly followed by further ones dealt by the hands of Tierno and Trevor: they meet your Pokémon, you meet their Pokémon – Corphish and Pikachu, their Pokémon meet your Pokémon…and then finally, over a cheerful round of expresso and white chocolate poképuffs, a plan of rendezvous comes to fruition.

“So, it’s settled then,” Trevor nods, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ll meet by the Vaniville Gate at dawn, and by noon tomorrow we should be taking our first steps through Santalune Forest – _together_!”

A hum of agreement spreads across the table, and the excitement felt by all is almost tangible in the air. A bit of small-talk, and just some general “getting to know you” chatter rises and falls with the evening breeze before all of you finally dare to part ways, though not entirely. Shauna, apparently, lives on a separate street from Tierno and Trevor, but their homes collectively exist on the opposite end of town, that is to say, a great deal farther from the gate than the street in which you and Calem belong to. Naturally, this exists in a divide between the group, but a sense of comfortability provided to all upon realizing that no one will walk home alone. Calem’s house is revealed to be only a hop away from yours, your bedroom windows the sort of distance in which you might have dangled a string of tin can telephones as children. Ever the gentleman, Calem takes it upon himself to see you to your home first.

“T-thanks for the company, Calem,” you mumble nervously, preparing to cross the threshold that separates, in essence, your property from not-your-property. “I guess this is where we say g-goodnight, and stuff—”

“Wait!” There it is again, Calem’s hand on your bare shoulder, seamlessly transitioning between the two universes you once believed to be parallel – your personal space bubble and everything outside of it. Thinking nothing of the physical contact, he utilizes his spare hand to rummage lazily through the navy blue messenger bag dangling by his side. It is not long before he retrieves from it a couple of sheets of notebook paper, identified as such by the squiggly remnants of ripped paper to be found along the left-hand side. “I almost forgot to give you one of these.”

Gingerly, you take the papers from his outstretched hand and do your best to give them a fair perusal despite the quickly vanishing aid of daylight.

“Adventure Rules?” You quote the title, and the words feel goofy on your lips. Further perusal of the sheets yield evidence of ten rules, neatly bulleted, five per page. How is Calem’s handwriting so gosh-darn gorgeous when your best attempt at elegant loops tends to resemble nothing more than a String Shot gone wrong?

“Yeah,” Calem nods, cheeks tinting in embarrassment at your interpretation of the title. “Shauna and the others are always asking me stuff about Pokémon, because, well, my parents are pretty accomplished trainers, and they’ve imparted some of their knowledge on me, I guess. Anyway, if we get separated and you can’t reach me any other way, this might help with any questions you might have.”

Later, upon glancing at the rules with better light, you cannot decide if it is considerate or pretentious to have gone through the trouble of inscribing five copies of these well-meaning guidelines: modest accounts on the basis of Pokémon catching, thoughtful suggestions towards basic preparation, and even charming regurgitations of the one lesson a trainer never truly forgets – “Ten: Enjoy your journey with your Pokémon!” – but what is indisputable is how fond you are of the way, delicately scrawled in the margins of the first sheet, the sort of place where you expect a name might be if this were a homework assignment of days past,  nothing but the word “neighbor” can be found.

 


	4. This is It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out to floatingghost for all of the lovely comments! ❤ ❤ ❤
> 
> Thank you guys for your interest in my story! I will do my best to keep updating, and, of course, to keep you guys interested!

The early morning sun casts a promising warmth on this, arguably the most important moment of your life. A restless breeze sweeps Avance Trail, giving a flock of pudgy Pidgeys – their swollen guts undoubtedly a commentary of the amount of garbage to be found in the nearby town – an effortless glide towards the edges of Santalune Forest. Though the forest’s boundary does not meet that of the Route 2 trail for another mile or so, its edges seem limitless to you. Are you really going to be able to cover _all_ of that ground in only a day’s time? Or, per chance, are you going to have to sleep in a dark, creepy forest – a dark, creepy forest crawling with ooey-gooey bugs and who knows what else—?

“AWH, [NAME]! I can’t believe you beat me here!”

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt at the arrival of the only other female in your party. Perhaps out of sheer nervousness alone, and perhaps because of your mother’s “zero-tardiness” policy, you had found yourself the first to arrive at the preordained meeting place of your ragtag assemblage.

“Don’t sweat it, Shauna,” you begin, pity coming to you quite easily at the sight of the pouting youth. Her hands are balled and smashed cheekily against her hips and her lower lip is jutted out in a pout that is somehow the perfect mix of asinine and adorable. “You can’t blame yourself for being without a Rhyhorn escort. My mom _insisted_.”

It was not as though you minded the free ride, of course, but you knew it was the only possible explanation for anyone beating Shauna anywhere. What had Calem compared her speed to only yesterday – that of a Doduo – no, you dismissed wordlessly, even their speed could hardly compare.

“Oh!” Shauna blinks, seeming to perk up immediately at the revelation that she was still, indeed, the Queen of Speed. “My parents were pretty clingy today too! My mom kept fussing over whether or not I had packed enough,” she paused, followed by a shifty glance obviously meant for the detection of nearby Y chromosomes. “ _Feminine hygiene_ products, and my dad? He checked my Holocaster _three times_ to make sure that I had all the right emergency contact numbers registered – for every town from here to Snowbelle City, ughh!”

You grimaced, now feeling sympathy – empathy even – drip from your very bones. So maybe your mom had only checked your Holocaster once, but, sheesh! Checking the Holocaster’s Address Book, systematically packing your bag with everything from potions to pepper spray, and refusing to back down about the importance of an accompaniment – Rhyhorn Rider Grace style – all the way from your front lawn to Avance Trail, _was_ a little much, wasn’t it?

Still, however “much” it might have been, you could not help but recall your mother’s, and that of her partner Pokémon, with fondness. Your mother had hugged you tighter than ever before, tears blurring the visions of mother and daughter alike, and made you pinky promise to give her a ring on the Holocaster every day, no matter how long the call. Her Rhyhorn, typically the sort of fellow who likes to keep to himself, had spent at least fifteen minutes nuzzling you with his rough cheeks – which you feared might have become stone-bruised from all the love – and crying pitifully at the thought of your departure. To this, your mother had simply reminded you that Rye had loved you, just as she had, long before you’d ever left the womb, that he had, quite frankly, known you all your life.

A bitter pang in your chest urged you move forward from these thoughts, lest you lose the will to leave your mother behind at all, and you forced yourself to fall comfortably into small talk with Shauna. It was not long, of course, before this pleasant chatter dissolved into a comfortable, though silent, anticipation towards the trio of males rapidly approaching. The bob of their crowns emerged slowly from the bottom of the hill you and Shauna had made your own – contented to sprawl out amongst a few blades of grass far too short to house wayward Pokémon.

“WE’RE OVER HERE, YOU GUYS!” Shauna called out finally, and a flurried twinkle of her fingertips indicated to the trio exactly where their female compatriots had gone.

“I knew Shauna would beat us,” Tierno glowers. “But [Name] too? _C’mon!_ ”

By this point you are better able to make out the rest of them and discover that, not really to the surprise of anyone there, that none of you have deviated from yesterday’s ensembles. You smile smugly to yourself that, perhaps, your mother is not the only one tempted cruelly by the promise of B.O.G.O.

“There, there,” Trevor smiles, accompanied by a reassuring pat of Tierno’s shoulder. “Nobody said that it had to be a race.”

“Yeah!” Shauna adds, seeming quite tickled with herself. “And if it were, you should know that [Name] beat me too!”

“Not on my own merits, of course!” You add quickly. Before Tierno can sink further into despair at the thought of another person faster than he, you had seen fit to intervene.

“Well, yeah! Mrs. [Last Name]’s Rhyhorn gave her a ride! Can you believe we missed seeing him in action?” Shauna clarifies, a pout worming its way back into her features.

“I didn’t,” The last member of your quintet reveals, grinning deviously at you. “It’s not often that you catch sight of a Rock/Ground behemoth trotting happily through the heart of Vaniville. I’m honestly surprised you guys didn’t see it.” He pauses, and his attention shifts towards the others. “The whole town has been abuzz with their arrival – just excited to see a celebrity calling this their home, I guess – but I swear it took everything I had to keep my mom from waving a checkered flag out my bedroom window.”

“I-Is that so?” You squeak as heat creeps up your neck. “I know mom’s always drawn a lot of attention to herself, but was everyone really watching?”

Calem turns to look at you once more, “I can’t say for sure, but my mom, at least, is a huge fan of Mrs. [Last Name]. It’s part of the reason why Shauna and I came and got you instead of Tierno and Trevor. I was supposed to ask for an autograph, you know.”

“Oh!” You yelp, and though you pray for otherwise, you know that your face must be as red as a Ledyba’s back by now. “Well, I’m supposed to catch her on the Holocaster tonight and can totally pass along the request. Knowing my mother, though, she’ll surely be unsatisfied without a lunch date with your mom and dad in return.”

When Calem’s response is predated by a pleasant smile, you realize that the embarrassment of this morning’s sendoff is already a thing of the past.

“Totally!” The ardor in his voice matched only by the gusto of his thumbs-up. “Though, I can’t promise that my mom won’t, y’know, freak out. She’s not so good with celebrities…”

The five you share a giggle over this imagined meeting of the moms, and internally you cannot help but to feel even more excited about what awaits you on this journey. Somehow, you have managed to fall easily into not one friendship – but _four_ – well, five, counting Farrah, of course. Just how much better can this adventure be, if at the start of it you are already walking on air?

With these blissful thoughts in mind, the five you share a bit of clipped conversation, words falling into the staccato beat of ten sneakers slapping the pavement. The trees that pepper Santalune’s edge grow larger and larger in your view until you find yourself before them, utterly dwarfed by their size.

“This is it, you guys!” Shauna squeals, linking elbows with you and Calem. She gestures wordlessly for Tierno and Trevor to follow suit before continuing. “No matter what happens beyond this point, no matter how far the wind may scatter us, I don’t want any of us to forget that these precious first steps on this journey – the journey of all journeys – were taken together!”

A general swell of anticipation and comradery surges through your friendly band upon receiving such a heartfelt speech.  The beginning of her words echo in your very souls, dancing coyly about the edge of your tongues, though no one else can stand to repeat it: _this is it._

“On three?” Calem offers, barely able to contain his anticipation.

“One!” Tierno exclaims, grinning anxiously.

“Two,” Trevor adds, a polite smile permanently fixated upon his lips.

“…three!” You finish for them rather giddily. Five sneaker-clad right feet collide with rich earth, the beginning of a path trodden so frequently that grass no longer dares to grow. Your enthusiasm is contagious, and you can almost feel your lone Pokeball shaking, realizing at once that this eagerness has been reflected in Farrah. What fate awaits you at the end of this path? What Pokémon will you encounter? Just as the literal conclusion of your trail remains unseen, so too does your story. And only time will tell whether this is for better or worse.

 

* * *

 

“ _We-Weedle_ …”

It seems like only moments ago that your body, once full of water, had now come to be comprised of 99% pure sympathy, tinged with a hint of aimless rage.

“Come on, Will! Let’s make a seafood dinner outta him!”

“ _Wee_ , _Wee_ ,” the small worm whimpers, his beady eyes clouding with terrified tears, and his whole body seeming to shake with a horrified anticipation. It’s easy to tell that, despite his fears, this little fellow is attempting to psyche himself up for battle – to make his trainer proud. At this display, you are unsure of who you are more disgusted with – this arbitrary trainer – this “Bug Catcher Steve” as he was wont to be labelled – or, perhaps, Tierno for being the one to inspire this small bug’s fear?

“Cordy’s _nobody’s_ seafood dinner!” Tierno spits defiantly, pausing only to incorporate a complimentary, “ _CORPHISH, COR_!” from his beloved partner. “But if you wanna talk trash, Cordy’s definitely got the moves to make sashimi out of you!”

Tierno and his Corphish’s confident declarations are accompanied by _sweet_ dance moves, and you are able to take a time-out from your fuming if only to give this coordinated effort the appreciation it deserves. Of course, once Calem sees fit to interject with a simple exclamation of, “BATTLE BEGIN!” your anger comes crashing back with all the weight of a well-executed Body Slam.

Your merry band had, it seemed, barely broken the halfway mark towards the forest’s conclusion when Tierno had met gazes with a lanky boy whose trainer type was easily identified to you all by his taste in old-fashioned straw hats and handheld bug-nets. The rules of the trade, when it came to trainer battles and all, outlined that the parameters for a battle amongst strangers were set best by direct eye-contact, whether intentional or otherwise. You all knew this, of course, but deep down there was a general consensus of being torn between excitement on behalf of your impetuous companion and, of course, jealousy because you were not in his place – and, in the case of you specifically, though you were almost _certain_ that Shauna would feel the same way as you, if she was not currently preoccupied in the pursuit of wayward Pikachu, a longstanding rumor suggested that the Electric Mouse was both the cutest and rarest Pokémon to be found within Santalune’s margins – there was an additional sensation thrown into this tenuous mixture of emotions that suggested not but sheer, unadulterated rage. And really, could you be blamed for such feelings? After all, as your eyes now beheld the scene of an obstinate lobster, his sharp pincers gleaming in the afternoon sun, locked into battle with a freshly-caught worm, dwarfed in comparison to the lobster’s sheer size, you felt the battle to be an unfair match. Unfortunately, you were unsure whether to be angrier at Tierno or this – this “Steve” for it.

“Alright now, Will, Poison Sting!”

The miniscule insect, shaking with a terror that dared not subside, fixed his eyes shut in concentration, a shrill, white barb flying from his forehead.

“Dodge it, Cordy! If it’s a shoot-out he wants, we’ve got one heck of a Water Gun, don’t we?” Tierno instructed with hearty chortle. The Corphish nodded in accordance to his trainer’s words before following suit. The enemy Weedle’s barb, having thoroughly missed its target, slammed into the bark of a nearby tree. A violent stream of water erupted from Corphish’s mouth, and upon being met with such the poor Weedle was flown back into the outstretched arms of its trainer.

“Will!” The trainer called, his clothes dripping wet in the aftermath, and his arms encircling the poor worm protectively. “I know you can do it! I know we can win! Don’t give up!”

If before it was obvious to anyone around who the winner would be of this novice encounter, an unexpected turn now shook the odds: a faint glow enshrouded the small, exhausted worm, and grew to match the intensity of Steve’s words.

“What the—” Tierno began, his hands pulling at his hair in panic. “But we had this in the bag – what’s going on?”

A hand caught you shoulder in a gesture that was now becoming quite familiar, and you turned to see Calem beside you.

“I know you’ve been worrying about that Weedle, [Name],” Calem began, lowering his voice so as to avoid being overheard by the battling trainers. You blanch at his observation, slightly embarrassed. He could tell how you were feeling? What was he, a boy or a _Lucario_? “Don’t give me that awe-inspiring look! You have to know that you looked like a Torkoal blowing smoke, right?” He paused, his palms hoisted before his face in surrender. “Anyway, it looks like that Weedle’s evolving, so why don’t you take your mind off of Tierno’s impending defeat for a minute? I could, you know, show you and Shauna how to catch Pokémon.”

At this offer, your gaze flickered worriedly between the two scenes in demand of your attention. To your surprise, the shaky little worm had been replaced by an emotionless golden husk, identifiable as a living thing only by the blinking of its coal black eyes.

 _So, Weedle had evolved after all_ , you sniffed, _at least that felt more evenly matched than the previous line up_. _What was Tierno thinking, really? Weedle is often considered a baby Pokémon by some, and –_ your thoughts shifted to the threatening gleam of Corphish’ mighty forceps, and you gulped.

“I don’t know, Calem,” you muttered unsurely. “What if—”

“Come on, [Name]!” He gave you a reassuring smile. “Even a full-power Vice Grip can’t tear through a Kakuna’s defenses! Don’t you know that they learn Harden naturally?”

To be sure, this snippet of information had definitely eased your concerns a bit, Calem was right, after all. No matter how dangerous Corphish seemed, he was dealing with a formidable, _evolved_ opponent now. Things would be different, less worrisome – except for Tierno, of course, who now had to deal with the task of cutting through his opponent’s recently sky-rocketed defenses.

“Well, a tutorial would be nice…” you agreed a little more easily now, and your grip tightened on the edge of the purse dangling from your shoulder – the soul barrier between you and the ten, empty Pokeballs that practically _begged_ to be of use. Now, feeling well-assured that no Pokémon life would be shed before even the first twenty-four hours of your journey was over, you felt that the watchful supervision of Trevor alone would now be enough.

“Kick his _butt_ , Tierno!”


	5. Miamour

“[NAME]! YOU HAD BETTER KEEP THAT THING IN ITS POKEBALL THE NEXT TIME YOU COME HOME! I AM _NOT_ RUNNING A DAYCARE HERE, YOU KNOW!”

You winced at the shrill cry of the wild _Mother_ , trouncing about aggressively in its native habitat – the kitchen – as it practically shot an Ember at you _through_ the Holocaster.

“ _Fletch, fletch~_ ” the little creature, content to perch about her shoulders, chirped dreamily at you, and though its eyes were currently an electrical, transparent blue, you could easily make out the transition of them into throbbing hearts.

“Red,” you grimaced at the enamored avian. “Don’t you dare ruin this for me! My Mia will have better things to do then date _you_!”

No matter how terrifying you appeared, the defiant fowl saw easily passed the jab of your boney index-finger, and straight through to the picturesque beauty perched about your left forearm. His eyes roamed her soft features, the gloss of her feathers, the sparkle of her eyes, and the adorability of the pale pink, polka-dot bandana draped around her neck. His thoughts could not break from her, even as she let out a defiant “ _Fle, fletch!_ ” of agreement to her trainer’s harsh words, aimed at him.

“Besides, [Name], I thought you said you hated Fletchling!” _His_ trainer sniffed, her gentle fingers reaching up to scratch him about the chest sympathetically.

“ _Fle_?” Your Fletchling cried, completely shocked by this discovery.

“No!” You assured the lot of them quickly. “I mean – maybe Adamant ones, perhaps?” You paused to shoot the opposing bird a taunting glance. “But Mia’s _Sassy!_ ”

Your mother deadpanned at this reveal, her jaw practically hitting the floor at your hasty reveal. At the moment, she had not but to believe that her daughter was so pernickety as to loathe or love a Pokémon based solely upon its nature…but how could she know that your love for the small bird before you was a mystery in itself? How could she know that, only hours earlier, you were, perhaps, fit to ride the same “Pikachu Pursuit” train as Shauna? How could she know the circumstances that had shaped your introduction to Mia?  And, more importantly, how could she know how truly well this little birdie looked in a scarf, if all she saw her through was the muted blue filter of the Holocaster? No _wonder_ she was pissed!

 

* * *

 

“I’ve always thought that the best way to learn was through doing, so,” Calem pauses, a gesture accompanied by a panoramic glance of his surroundings. The tall grass around the three of you dances in the cool breeze of a sun-sheltered forest, and above you, the treetops are alive with the chatter of wayward Pokémon – a few Pidgeys here, a Butterfree there, “Who’s first?”

Simultaneously, you find yourself a mirror image of Shauna, knees quaking and fingers pointing defiantly at one another. “ _She_ is!” Your voices come out in the sort of identical chorus that might have appeared practiced to the unknowing eye.

“I-I’d feel much more comfortable watching Shauna first,” you sheepishly admit, an uneasy grin about your features.

“Oh!” Shauna blanches at the suggestion as Calem turns to her. “W-well, Lil’Chespin is a Grass type!” She reminds you both. “That means we’re going to have a time of it trying to catch _anything_ here! And Pikachu are so scarce!” She bemoans, illuminating that her situation savors strongly of bad luck. “I was thinking that maybe I’d wait to catch something somewhere else…”

Perhaps because he is so impressed with Shauna’s rational backing her cowardice, Calem settles upon you as his first and only victim.

“Looks like you’re up, neighbor!” Calem smirks.

* * *

 

“Do you hear that, [Name]?”  Calem whispers to you, and your trio pauses, mid-tiptoe, about your current patch of tall grass.

Your ears strain for a moment, sorting to pick out a nearby cry amidst the raucous hullabaloo typical of the forest. Zoning in upon it at last, you discover that the cry is a familiar one!

“I’d recognize it anywhere,” you murmur in confirmation, adjusting easily to the sound of cheerful little chirps. “A wild Fletchling.”

“How do you feel about catching it?” Calem queries, quirking a brow at you. Though you are elated to have discovered your first potential caught Pokémon, your mind begins to reel with the remembrance a particularly annoying little bird in your life, perhaps not so dissimilar to this one. The wake-up Tackles, the aggravation, the annoying way he seems to hide behind your mother whenever his antics give way to a playful chase – yes, everything about your home life with Red comes back to you at once.

“W-well,” you commence uneasily, willing up the courage to decline. After all, how could you allow such a maddening creature to plague not just your home life, but your most imperative of journeys? “I don’t know if Fletching is a right fi—”

“You’re really very lucky if you catch it, you know! They’re _solid_! Don’t even get me started on the merits of their evolution at your side!” Calem adds, his excitement for you almost contagious – _almost_.

“It’s no Pikachu,” Shauna admits, and you pray that she will be the voice of reason in this situation, “But they sure are _cute_!”

“I-I suppose so,” you stutter, seeming to practically wilt under the weight of their opinions. You let a long, exasperated sigh, “Let’s do it.”

“Great!” Calem exclaims, barely above a whisper as he claps his hand together in excitement. “Now, [Name], ease your Fennekin out of its Pokeball.”

You do as he suggests, retrieving the ball quietly from your purse and tossing it gently into the grass beside you. “Come on out, Farrah!” You coax enthusiastically.

The aforementioned Fire type appears in a flash of blue light, and blinks up at you naïvely. “ _Fen_?”

“Excellent, [Name]!” Calem applauds, straining to maintain a soft voice. “Now aim a Tackle attack at Fletchling, and he _should_ be irritated enough to commence a battle with you.”

“I see, I see,” you nod, absorbing his words, and turn to Farrah. “Think you can do that? We’re trying to catch you a friend!”

Realization dawns upon your partners face at this explanation. “ _Fennekin!_ ”

With no further words exchanged between the two of you, Farrah goes barreling in the direction of your chosen prey.

“Keep in mind that not all Pokémon can be baited into a fight, [Name],” Calem elucidates with a stern expression. “But if Fletching chooses to engage you, then you must weaken it. Otherwise, a wild Pokémon will resist capture, and you’ll be shelling out a lot of money on wasted Pokeballs.”

Resist capture? Your mind echoes the thought with an air of distaste about you. You weren’t even gung-ho about a Fletchling to begin with, and _it_ might resist you? A flash of Red’s smug expression enters your mind, bringing with it a determination to wipe any sort of smug expression off of _this_ Fletchling’s face.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Calem!” You announce defiantly, pressing a thumb to your chest. “Farrah and I have got this one in the bag!”

The turn of the battle, now engaged, contrasts heavily with your declaration, as Farrah comes flying back at you, a thin-coating of dirt clinging to her fur.

“Farrah!” You cry worriedly, clutching the battered creature to your chest. “Are you alright?”

“ _Fenn_ ,” Farrah nods, a little more worse for the ware then when she had left you as she leaps to her feet. The tall blades of grass before you bend a little, and a small, irritable Fletchling emerges from their depths.

“Alright then, Fletchling,” you call, your fists clenched in determination. “Farrah and I challenge you to a Pokémon battle. If we win, you’ll be coming with us!”

The Fletchling’s anger seems to subside a little at your proposition, and it pauses to think the matter over. After a few seconds, the bird shrugs half-hazardly at you as if to say, “Well, why not?”

“Excellent!” You positively beam at the willing future-addition to your party. “Farrah, use Ember!”

And so, the battle ensues, a poignant zigzag between Ember and Peck, hit and miss, until the wild Fletchling’s resolve appears to take a turn towards mild exhaustion.

“Now is the time, [Name]!” Calem calls, coming to stand directly behind you. “That Fletchling is beginning to tire!”

“Oh!” You blink Noctowlishly. “Right! So now I,” you pause, shifting anxiously through your purse for a spare ball. “I just throw a ball at it and—”

“There’s no need to be nervous; here, have one of mine!” Calem offers, his hand curling about your wrist gently, and in efforts to cease your nervous search.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Calem, I—” you sputter, practically boiling at the proximity between the two of you, as you slip your hand out of his grasp.

“ _Fennekin, fen!_ ” Your partner growls, and for the first time you begin to see Fletchling’s exhaustion reflected in her. Though none of you speak her language, it is rather obvious that she is urging you along towards the conclusion of this battle…before the matter becomes that of whose stamina will run out first?

“We’ve got this, Farrah!” You reassure her, assuming a defiant stance. Calem drops a spare ball into your hand and closes your fingers around it. Visibly fretting over your in-progress tutorial, he then goes about straightening your shoulders.

“Now, this is no different from playing catch,” He murmurs from behind, his body momentarily becoming the shadow of yours as his right arm and hand become the backbone of your own. “Set your sights square on Fletchling and nothing else, and we’ll release on three!”

You nod at this instruction, your fingers curled so tightly around the ball that they shake, and will your cheeks – with a desperateness – not to take on the characteristics of a Cheri berry.

“T-Three!” You squeak and with a flutter of right arms and forward momentum, the ball goes surging towards Fletchling. _Crap_ , had you forgotten the rest of the count so soon?

Faster than any of you could blink, Fletchling was enveloped in a glimmer of blue light, and the hackneyed Pokeball fell to the ground with a gentle thud. You held your breath as it rocked back and forth – once, twice – there! So that’s where the rest of the count had gone!

“Congratulations, neighbor! You are now the proud trainer of a Fletchling!” Calem called, stepping away from you at once.

“Alright, [Name]! You did it!” Shauna exclaimed, twirling about your present company in excitement. “Now, what’cha gonna name her?”

Though momentarily stunned both by the nature of your conquest as well as the absence of Calem’s hand over your own – oh, and how you had been forced to endure that absence so frequently now – you did not miss a beat. From the depths of your purse, you pulled out a cutesy bandana, relishing the fact that your “all-female squad goals” had yet to be challenged.

“She’s definitely a Mia to me.”


End file.
